


The Way the Music Dances

by Jeanvalvernairdienjoleponius



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Piano, Pining and stuff, courferre, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4565868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeanvalvernairdienjoleponius/pseuds/Jeanvalvernairdienjoleponius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac couldn’t decide what exactly was more entrancing, Combeferre’s music or Combeferre himself.</p>
<p>~Anon ask for Courferre week.~</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way the Music Dances

Courfeyrac had absolutely no idea when the piano had made its way into the cafe Musain.

Or why.

Or how.

All that he knew was that every single one of the Les Amis had been trying to show off their ‘skills’ on it for the past week or so, except for Combeferre. It was really strange, but Courfeyrac had watched everyone play, (some of them having some surprise talent hidden in the folds of their jeans and some simply smashing keys), but not Combeferre. Combeferre would watch someone patiently and smile to himself, clapping politely after they were done and even cheering after some, but never did he actually touch the piano. Because of that, it was absolutely Courfeyrac’s mission to figure out why.

See, Combeferre just happened to be the kindest human being on earth, the smartest human being on earth, and the most attractive human being on earth. He was possibly one of the greatest, if not the greatest, men to ever walk the face of the planet. He was amazing. Practically flawless. And Courfeyrac needed to know if this piano ordeal would add another thing to the list of things Combeferre was amazing at, or if he would seem just a little more human. It was slowly melting his brain.

Courfeyrac didn’t exactly know what lows he would sink to in order to achieve his objective, but he felt as if he would do just about anything. For the past few days, he’d been talking to Combeferre and had somewhat subtly talked about playing the piano, but Combeferre just refused to get the hint. About anything. Ever. 

He was so frustrating.

Today, though, today was very different. Courfeyrac had an amazing plan. A plan that could only be brought out during the absolute most perfect, extreme, once in a lifetime circumstances. It was a brilliant plan. 

Smiling to himself, he looked up at Enjolras and tried to figure out just when his friend would stop talking. This speech was going on for a ridiculously long time and, slut as he was for social justice, Courfeyrac currently had more important things on his mind. Rolling his eyes, he began tapping his foot to the floor, hoping it wouldn’t annoy anybody.

He continued blissfully tapping until Feuilly poked his shoulder silently, at which point Courfeyrac decided that maybe he should stop. He switched to staring intently at Enjolras, making funny faces which soon turned to desperate faces in a final plea for him to stop talking. The only response he got was a confused look from Enjolras, which looked pretty funny if Courfeyrac was being entirely truthful. Discreetly, Courfeyrac tried to pry his phone out of his pocket while Enjolras’s eyebrows were quirked just so, but failed to do it fast enough. It did get him yet another confused look, (though this time from Combeferre himself), which he did get a photo of. Chuckling, Courfeyrac found himself content to think about that for the rest of the seemingly never-ending meeting.

In the glorious moment when it was finally over, however, and to Courfeyrac’s abject horror, Grantaire hopped over to the piano and slammed the ending song of Looney Toons, crying out, “That’s all, folks!” Normally, Courfeyrac would be up for some cartoon-based humor, but tonight was not the night. Tensing, Courfeyrac waited behind Grantaire for him to finish playing, but Grantaire went on to play some sort of song all by himself.

Of course he would. That was just something Grantaire did, of course, and Courfeyrac would normally love him for something like that, but, really? Tonight of all nights. Huffing, Courfeyrac crossed his arms and watched with grudging admiration. Grantaire was actually a fantastic piano player, as they’d figured out a few days ago. Grantaire completely rocked any song he was given, it was sort of unfair. 

Unfair, of course, until Combeferre sat down next to him and began playing quietly. It sounded like they were playing some sort of piano duet, with Combeferre providing the harmony to Grantaire’s melody. It was the most beautiful thing that Courfeyrac had ever heard in person, so stunning that he didn’t even think to record it for later.

All of the Les Amis surrounding him had clearly gotten the same idea, because they all stood near the piano, leaning towards it in awe. Courfeyrac couldn’t blame them. The music was absolutely amazing.

Until it ended.

After just a single song, both Combeferre and Grantaire stood up, looking at each other and bowing to uproarious applause, but that was it. That was the end of the song and any song that could have come after it. Everyone else seemed fine, but Courfeyrac needed more. He would absolutely go insane if he couldn’t hear any more of that beautiful music, so he needed to implement his plan as quickly as physically possible. Combeferre was about to leave. He would strike now or never.

Inhaling quickly, Courfeyrac grabbed Combeferre by the elbow, dragging him back to the piano seat and sitting down, hoping that Combeferre would sit next to him. “What’s this all about?” Combeferre asked him, amusement clear in his voice. Oh, God, Courfeyrac was melting. He had to concentrate.

“Combeferre, I know you’ve been avoiding playing the piano all week.” Courfeyrac stated when everybody else had left. “There is absolutely no way you can hide it, and I’m really quite mad at you for not even trying. Why did you do that?” He asked, crossing his arms and huffing impatiently, glaring at Combeferre. Combeferre simply stared back, gaze level with Courfeyrac’s, corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

“How did you notice? Everyone else thought I had just already played something.” Combeferre explained, voice soft, smile growing. “And yet, you noticed. Why is that?” He asked, confident. Courfeyrac creased his eyebrows, looking back at Combeferre as if that would give him some sort of explanation as to what was going on.

What even?

“Well, I mean, I just.. I dunno, I wanted to hear you play the piano.” Courfeyrac explained, wishing that there weren’t any people in the entire cafe. Perhaps he should have thought his brilliant plan through just a little bit better. Oh, well. Better luck next time. “Cuz, you know, you’re my friend and all that.” He stated lamely, leaning against the piano and ignoring the dreadful, dying noise it made as if it had been entirely on purpose. 

Combeferre chuckled at that, which only made Courfeyrac even more nervous. What a vicious cycle. Courfeyrac shrugged and took his hand off of the piano, taking Combeferre’s and placing them gently on the keys. “Is that such a bad thing? Anyways, here we are, so, play for me.” He ordered. Immediately, beautiful music started flowing from the gentle taps of fingers to keys.

Courfeyrac couldn’t decide what exactly was more entrancing, Combeferre’s music or Combeferre himself.

On the one hand, the music was simultaneously calming and exciting, flowing perfectly, precisely practiced and beautifully executed. It pushed away most every thought from his head and made Courfeyrac just want to sit there and listen rather than pay attention to anything that was happening in the world. It twisted, it babbled, jumped, laughed, tripped, and skipped straight through the cafe and towards anyone who was listening. It was perfect.

On the other hand, Combeferre was there. Constant friend, helper to everyone, lover and savant of everything under the sun. Today, he was wearing a suit that hugged his form, glasses that were just perfectly him. Courfeyrac caught himself staring and allowing himself to be swayed by the music as he smiled at his best friend, who he loved more than anything. Maybe Combeferre would share in the same sentiment, but, for now, who could tell?

Life was beautiful, either way.


End file.
